


Sounds of History

by eiiven



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam (Voltron) Dies, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Boyfriends, Boys In Love, Boys' Love, Canon - Anime, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Crying Shiro (Voltron), Dealing With Loss, Death, Deathfic, Denial, Drabble, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Family Loss, Gay Adam (Voltron), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I love Curtis and all but not in this fic, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Kinda, Loss, Loss of significant other, Lost Love, Love is Lost, M/M, Married Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Men Crying, My First Work in This Fandom, Oneshot, Pain, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Past Character Death, Post-War, RIP Adam, Regret, Regretful Shiro, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Shiro (Voltron), Self-Denial, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Shiro and Adam, Shiro doesn't end up with Curtis, Shiro misses Adam, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Spoilers, Tears, The Author Regrets Nothing, Voltron, Voltron oneshot, Yaoi, not in the best way but, shiro is lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 13:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiiven/pseuds/eiiven
Summary: Of all things, Shiro was completely unaware as to why he kept returning to Adam's makeshift grave. He was gone, no matter how many times his heart howled for his silly butterfly kisses, or the way his soft fingers caressed his forehead. Every time Shiro found himself there, it resulted in a pang of undesirable numbness. The happiness Adam had radiated was blotted between engraved marks on a metal plaque. He didn't understand why his feet yearned to stand in front of a picture that failed to properly capture his irreplaceable beauty. Even the bitterness of a certain winter night failed to keep him away.





	Sounds of History

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! I'm honesty surprised I made a Shiro fanfic before any other characters. I totally would've thought I'd make a Keith fanfic first bUT that's not the point.  
> I'm a slut for angst :') expect more of it in the future.  
> ALSO  
> I MADE THIS AT 3 IN THE MORNING SO I'M SORRY IN ADVANCE IF IT'S BAD OR HARD TO UNDERSTAND  
> I MAY BE A LITTLE OOC BUT THERE REALLY ISN'T A LOT OF DIALOGUE SO IT'S OKAY
> 
> ANYWAY ENJOY  
> LOVE YOU ALL ❤❤

Another gust of wind tumbled into Shiro's body. It was an unpleasant feeling, but it wasn't entirely unfamiliar either. He huddled himself deeper into his jacket in hope that desirable warmth would eventually come. However, he was greeted with the prickle of the evenings curious touch against his pink-hued cheeks. Locks of white hair brushed against his brow, furrowed with a sense of ineffable longing. A type of covet that kept him awake in the darkest hours of night when sleep couldn't seem to find him. His eyes, succinct with hollow serenity, stared at the way his shoes gleamed under the street lights above his head. Even though it's dim light showered his body, but it didn't produce the warmth his skin utterly craved for.

It was odd, really, how he wished for something he knew was gone. For something he was well aware he could never have again. It was just another moment in time where he wished to indulge in Adam's warmth. It was just another pang of oh-so-familiar desperation; Shiro wanted to bathe himself in the loving kisses his lover offered wherever he could. He ever so wanted to feel the way Adam threaded his thin fingers through his thick hair.

It was just another time he was left out alone in the empty streets, hungry while the cold nibbled upon his pale skin in its own form of hunger. Wishes couldn't bring forth the dead, that much made sense. It was a child's tale, but he found that the word often dabbled on the tip of his tongue. He wished and wished, like a hopeful child would on a memorable day. But, inevitably, his wish-like-pleads went unanswered. In return, unforgettable anguish writhed under his fingertips. Oh, how he missed it—oh, how he missed _him._

All of it. The pain, the desire, the longing, the misery. They all dulled each other out, and in the process, created a sharp type of emptiness that dwelled in his chest. Mornings became quiet, and silent hours seemed to go by forever. Shiro drowned in it, hands desperately searched through murky waters for any kind of support. He wanted out. So much did he want to return back.

His feet, heavy with fatigue, dragged his sullen form across the sidewalk littered with memories of old. They've walked these paths before, he knew. Together, hand in hand. He remembered the way Adam clicked his heels against the concrete. They were proud and happy. He could clearly recall the beautiful smile that graced Adam's thin lips as if the mere definition of the word smile was based solely upon it. It was a time where Shiro didn't have to worry. It almost made a saddened smile bloom upon his chapped lips. Memorizes are the only thing that doesn't change when everything else does.

Despite the silence that suffocated his insides, the sound of Adam's laugh rang somewhere in the distance. Too far to grasp, but close enough not to forget the chime. His breath—visible from the cold—tumbled from his dry throat. It's smoky appearance danced with the bitter air, only to fade away.

At first, it was safe to say Shiro wasn't sure where he was going. As he traveled along the cracked pavement, a direct path wasn't set out for him to take. It was far too late for any shops to be open. However, he found that the chill of the night was much more welcoming than his bed, where it was clear the person that was supposed to be next to him was missing.

Unfortunately, it seemed even when his mind was clouded, he always ended up there. Of all places, it had to be here. His throat constricted in some form of profound emotion he briefly forgot about. The way his heart pounded against his chest reminded him how much fire Adam sparked within him. The smell of dew sprung about him, overwhelming his senses.

Shiro slowly raised his gaze, the shape of his shoe no longer deemed of interest to him. His eyes swam across the series of plaques displayed on the large wall with a proud, yet mournful, intent. Each and every one sparkled under the crepuscular moonlight. Despite all of the faces that stared lifelessly at him, he knew where to find him. He always knew where to find him.

His fingers shook, whether it was from the cold or the fact that he singled out Adam, he wasn't all too sure. A sigh trembled on his bottom lip, but his legs trudged closer.

"I will always hate the picture they chose for you," Shiro said, his quiet voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Lightly, his fingertips brushed over the smooth metal surface. His skin cringed at the crisp cut chill of the material, but he didn't dare pull away. Not now. The dull amber eyes of his once vibrant lover stared at him, in a type of hollow way that the sleep deprived Shiro considered it insulting. "You look so unhappy here, you know... You look much better with a smile," He clarified, and some part of him wished he could hear him respond with his usual snappy comeback. He wished to hear how he made Adam happy. How he didn't fail as a boyfriend, a friend, a lover. He longed for it, but the only thing he had gotten in return was the zephyr of an evening breeze.

Shiro was left there, once again, alone with nothing but the crickets that sang somewhere around him. He trembled, but he took no notice. He caressed the dates that engraved Adam's plaque. With empty eyes and a sunken heart, the young man placed his forehead against the metal. Tears rimmed the edges of his swollen eyes, only to splatter on the ground under his feet like fresh blood. His fingers, trembling with defeat, curled into the lines of his palm. Dull pain emerged from the way his nails dug into his skin—it was nothing compared to everything else.

Death hushed a candle, so delicate and young. So strong, willed, and beautiful. Shiro hated it.

Words, strained from quiet cries, echoed off the navy colored plaque, "you have no idea how much I miss you... I can't do this without you. I tried, I really did... I love you too much. Come back to me, will you?" His breath billowed in front of his eyes and brushed against the surface in front of him.

There was nothing. Somewhere inside of him, despite the doubt that coiled tightly around his soul, he knew that there will always be... Nothing.


End file.
